


Les Fruits de la Révolution

by foxtwin



Category: John Adams (2008)
Genre: Alexander Hamilton - Freeform, Democrat, Diplomacy, France (Country), French Revolution, Gen, Republican, Revolutionary War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-22
Updated: 2010-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:16:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtwin/pseuds/foxtwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back from Revolutionary France, Thomas Jefferson joins his friends, Abigail and John Adams, for an evening meal that will change the course of history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Les Fruits de la Révolution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cerebel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerebel/gifts).



> Thanks and praise to Elanya for the beta and helpful comments, and to htbthomas for suggesting I attempt this fandom. I may find myself coming back to it in the future. The mini-series was heretofore unknown to me, though the history and characters were familiar. The tapestry of language, politics, and treatment of the history in the miniseries made these characters come alive in ways that inspire me still.

“Eloquence does slip my grasp, John, like sand through a sieve.” Thomas Jefferson sat at a well lit table, eating pheasant with John and Abigail Adams.

“How do you mean, Thomas?” John said.

“The French Declaration was inspired by my own pen, but I count the words composed in my parlor as less eloquent than those I heard read in the Continental Congress so many years ago.”

“Less eloquent?” John Adams stammered, lifting his fork. “How can you say such a thing? You are a soldier, Thomas, striking tyrants down with your pen in ways cannons cannot. And though I fear the revolution you speak of will only spill more blood, your written words are eloquent enough.”

Thomas Jefferson sipped his wine. Abigail Adams, sitting next to him, chewed on a morsel of pheasant. Her husband, John, swallowed his. Dinner at the Adams household was always a welcome affair for Thomas Jefferson, for the conversation was ever lively – especially as Mr. John Adams was not of a revolutionary bent. And now that he had been named Secretary of State, he hoped he would be able to enjoy another opportunity to bring John to his side.

 “Perhaps. But the words of our Declaration were not my own.” Thomas smiled, put his wine down, and reclined ever so slightly. “If you recall, they were a mixed composition.”

“Aren’t all compositions based, at least in part, on some other’s ideas and thoughts?” John asked, before cutting himself another morsel of pheasant.

“They are, indeed,” Thomas said, grabbing for his glass again. “But often the words we write necessarily become our own. That was not the case with our Declaration.”

“Wasn’t it?” John said with a mouth full of pheasant. Then after swallowing, “How’s that?”

“Do you not recall Mr. Franklin’s suggestion for altering my words? I had chosen the words ‘sacred’ and ‘undeniable,’ if you recall, to speak of the truths of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”

John chuckled. “Yes, and as I recall Mr. Franklin had said something about using ‘self-evident’ instead. It was a master stroke, that.”

“A master stroke, but not my own doing.” Thomas sipped his wine again. “After the Declaration was ratified, and I stood there listening to it being read aloud, I caught myself replacing Dr. Franklin’s words with my own. Mine were choice words, John. But Dr. Franklin’s more succinct and eloquent.”

“But the credit went to you, Thomas,” Abigail said, lifting her fork again. “Dr. Franklin mentioned to me what a fine job you did of writing the Declaration.”

“Yes,” Thomas said, averting his eyes from hers. But all I heard was: “Thanks for using my words, Mr. Jefferson.”

“A prudent man will always take words of advice from another and apply them sagaciously,” John said, popping another bite of pheasant into his mouth and washing it down with wine. 

“The thought of using another’s words often humbles a man,” Thomas mused. “The meaning of my own thoughts, when put to paper, is perfection to me alone, it seems.”

“You needn’t be so hard on yourself, you know,” Abigail said, reaching over to touch Thomas on the hand. “You lent voice to truth.”

“Even if in both of those documents one can find the truth, few will search out the meaning in the words I suggested and, in the case of our Declaration, most plainly wrote.”

“The purest truth is itself a beautiful, but unwashed, frock, Thomas,” John Adams said as he laid his fork down.  “Its many stains and soils are laid bare on its woof and warp. To some, those stains must be hidden or at least manipulated. To me, the light must expose the corporate sins of an imperfect humanity as well as its corporate virtues. Thus illuminated, the law will come to wash the impurities away.”

“The virtues of humanity will conquer these impurities. Not man’s laws.” Thomas raised his wine to his lips, drank deeply, and then continued. “I cast my lot by placing trust in these virtues.”

John laughed.

“We are all flawed, Thomas,” Abigail said with a smile. Thomas smiled back.

“I make no apology for my own misgivings as a husband and a man,” Thomas went on. “Yet, Providence has allowed that men work within their natural frame to better themselves. If freedom is to be won for all people – just as the French now seek it through liberty, property, security and resistance to oppression – the truth of the rights of all peoples must be laid bare.”

“You speak of liberty for slaves, do you not?” Abigail said.

“I speak frankly of injustice wherever it is found, and in whatever guise it may come, Abigail. Unfortunately, the French have chosen to ignore the provision of slavery altogether in their document.”

“Prudent of them, you might say,” John murmured.

“Well, I suspect political prudence will forever be prudence, just as eloquence, no matter the tongue, will be eloquence. But, it is not truth.”

John lifted his glass. “Ah. So you would say, then, that because we did not address the issue of slavery in our own Declaration that it is an untruthful document?”

“I do, indeed. At least, not wholly truthful. There is more truth in our own Declaration, however, than that written by the French. And this, itself, will mean we must help to guide them to a fuller measure of Nature’s truth.”

“A fuller measure, Sir?” John queried.

“While in France, I suggested to the Marquis de Lafayette and others of a revolutionary mind that they should include a provision against slavery in the document.” Thomas gave Abigail a kind look. Then, finding John’s eyes, Thomas said, “I even suggested giving women and children the liberties they deserve, for are they not human beings as well?”

John chuckled. “You are ever the revolutionary, Thomas! And what did they say to that, these sensible French?” John’s sarcasm was not lost on either Thomas or Abigail.

“They laughed,” Thomas said with a smirk. “But they also took my words to heart even if they played a game of jesting with them. Indeed, there came a rather strong discussion in the room about whether women were equal to men in every way. A conversation I found both absurd and fascinating,” Thomas lifted his eyebrows.

“Do you recall our walk at Versailles when I came to see Mr. Adams in Paris?” Abigail interjected.

“Of course,” Thomas said. “It was one of the most delightful conversations I have ever had.”

“Do you also recall how you told me that you found the company of women more engaging than the company of men?”

“I still feel that way,” Thomas said, leaning back. “Some men would do better to listen to women debate the issues.”

“Could you not bring these women into the confidences of these men and show them the lunacy of their debate?” Abigail asked.

“Now you see how eloquence of tongue, and bluntness of speech elude me,” Thomas said, lifting himself in his chair.

“The French seem to have such a ravenous passion for revolution, and I am only too glad you want to help them see it through,” John said. “We must shine light on the soiled frock of truth where it will do the most good.”

“My words cannot just shine a candle on but one area of your ‘frock of truth’, John, and Voila! cause the stains to disappear.”

            “No?”

“I believe the French will see the whole frock and glory in its unadulterated humanity. I am certain, then, that you will understand my meaning when I say the French will see liberty as even our country cannot.”

“Our revolution has brought stability to this country, Thomas. But I cannot see how our support of France’s revolutionaries will keep these United States at peace.”

“Peace, John? You call Mr. Hamilton’s treaty proposal a way to peace? There is and never will be perfect peace.”

“Then, my good friend, how does one achieve peace, if not by treaties with one’s more stable allies?”

“Through building and rebuilding, John. Even our country will need to be rebuilt from time to time. Nothing is permanent here, as it should be. And if your hand aids the passage of Mr. Hamilton’s treaty, my hand will be there as well to lay the truth bare.”

“Nothing is permanent,” John muttered, a look of understanding creasing his brow. “Then I suggest you take up pen and paper, Thomas, and be your very eloquent self. For I cannot support you, though you and my wife are my dearest companions on this journey we call liberty.”

Thomas nodded. “I understand.”

The remaining pheasant on his plate was delicious, and the continued conversation of the evening was just as lively as ever. And even though laughter and reminiscences would play throughout the evening as school children do in the meadows, Thomas knew too well that his plans in support of France would not sit well with his friend John Adams.


End file.
